


At Sea

by architeuthis, metropolisjournal (TKodami)



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Case Fic, Cruise Ships, Farce, M/M, Secret Identity, Silver Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architeuthis/pseuds/architeuthis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TKodami/pseuds/metropolisjournal
Summary: Batman and Superman work well as a team. They know what to do about the jewel thief on board their cruise ship, but what will the World’s Finest do about sharing a bedroom with a handsome stranger who knows their most intimate secret?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [At Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755638) by [Batdad (MizGoat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizGoat/pseuds/Batdad). 



> This is our first collaborative fic. We picked up “At Sea” as a pinch-hit pretty late in the bang, so the efforts below represent a month of careful planning and two weeks of us collectively losing our minds, but in prose. The prompt, and the summary on this fic, are by the very game [MizGoat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MizGoat). Check out her wonderful art [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755638) or [here](http://batdad.tumblr.com/post/174255493018/atsea)!
> 
> The fic was loosely based off of the events of Superman Vol 1 #76 (where Bruce and Clark discover each other's identities for the first time in comic continuity), and takes some tone inspiration from the more recent cruise-ship identity shenanigans of Superman/Batman Annual #1.

The jewel thief ran wildly down the the hallway, bouncing off one wall and then the other. The heist had gone down perfectly—so far. The sea had become unexpected unexpectedly choppy while he was smelting and recasting the bullets in his gun in his cabin. The gun was a showy piece, something that would menace the milquetoast cruise crowd from Metropolis. He'd never even have to pull the trigger to intimidate the passengers. And the lead in the bullets would hide the Rosser Reeves rubies from _any_ prying eyes. 

A faint cheer echoed through the hollow corridors of the ship. Batman and Superman were being feted in the main ballroom. The big band started up, and the saxophones and trumpets and roll of drums would surely cover the sound of his hasty exit. Now. He had to go now. This was his one chance to make a break for it with the capes on board.

He tightened his grip on the gun as he hustled past three other suite doors. Everyone who was anyone would be in the ballroom, but he was no first-time fool. _Every_ plan had setbacks. 

The ship lurched to the other side, and he crashed into the stairwell. His blood was up. His heart was racing. He'd studied the plans of this ship for a year. Down the stairwell, hard right into the cook's galley (closed at this time of night), across the breezeway and then one hundred feet across the deck to the lifeboats.

The hallway was empty. So was the cook's galley. The plan was going _swimmingly_. And then the setback barged in wearing a linen suit and wingtip loafers.

He pressed himself into the shadows. Two figures moved into the breezeway, their shadows looming over the the deck in the ship's floodlights. For a second, he felt the thrill— _I've been caught!_ —and raised the gun. 

But it was just that oaf of a socialite, Bruce Wayne, with a reporter the thief vaguely recognized hot on his tail. The reporter shoved Bruce Wayne into the wall and then they just stared at each other. They whispered in low voices—too low for the thief to hear. The reporter's three-piece suit had a dashing air, apart from its tweediness. Bruce Wayne got up into the reporter's face and—yeah, he'd thought so. A real Cary Grant and Randolph Scott vibe on those two. The couple paused for a moment, ears perked up like they'd been caught, and then retired to continue their business elsewhere. 

__

The deck was clear. The thief slipped out of the shadows and made his way down the aft deck to the lifeboats. They swayed on their cranes. He caught the rope of the closest boat, and pulled it closer to the ship. God, he was really going to do it. He was going to get _away_ with it. He had stolen from the ship's central safe _while_ Batman and Superman had been on board. They would _never_ live this down. He could imagine the 60pt headline that reporter would write. _Heist Of The Century! Brazen Thief Steals Rarest Sri Lankan Star Rubies; World's Finest Powerless To Stop It!_

__

As he loaded himself into the lifeboat, a light swept across the deck. The cruise ship lurched sharply and he gripped the side of the boat. He hung on for his life. This was a real storm they were heading into—he glanced out at the sea. In the dark, the sea was running high. It was hard to judge distances at night, but the white caps of the waves seemed further away than they should be. And...getting further? 

__

The bottom of his stomach dropped. There was only one person on this planet that was strong enough to lift a cruise ship. 

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The thief clutched his gun and aimed it around him wildly.

__

"I got a gun! I'll use it!" he screamed at the night. 

__

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced back and recoiled before he knew why. A half-second sooner and it would have been a successful duck. A fist met his face with a resounding impact.

__

He missed quite a bit after that. When he finally came to, he was trussed up on the deck, wearing a handkerchief gag. Batman and Superman were being interviewed by the ship's first officer. Batman held his gun with an air of distaste. He handed it to Superman, who bent the barrel into a bow and handed it back to Batman— _shyly_? The thief snorted into the handkerchief. He'd never operated in Metropolis, so he'd never seen the Boyscout in Blue up-close. It was hard to imagine _this_ was the hero who had crime running scared. __

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Batman looked at the gun like it was roadkill. He tossed it to the First Officer, who carried it over to the breezeway and dropped it down a garbage chute. 

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"We still haven't recovered the rubies," Superman said. 

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"I haven't been able to locate the means by which he smuggled the rubies past Superman. Nothing should escape his gaze."

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"Unless it was in lead," Superman put in apologetically. "Lead's what you might call a personal failing for me." 

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Batman turned toward him. The eyes of his cowl narrowed to two white slits. "We'll make him talk."

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The first officer put up his hands. "Hold it, gentlemen. You aren't the police. We need to take him back into harbor before he can be questioned."

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"I could fly us back—" Superman offered.

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The Captain stepped out onto deck, his ascot ends flapping in the breeze. He had the jovial manner of a man who spent his days without a care in the world. He was a man at sea. "No, no." He slapped Batman on the back. "The passengers had _quite enough of that_ earlier, old chap."

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Batman pointed at Superman and scowled. " _He's_ the flying one."

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"Right, right!" The Captain turned on his heels and clapped Superman's shoulder. "Well done, what a show! But please, no more of that. We'll put in at harbor tomorrow morning! Relax! Take the night off! Enjoy a cabin and our hospitality! It's not every night the Caped Crusader and the Man of Steel get a well-deserved rest!"

__

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Superman stuck his leg out, unconsciously reproducing the pose from a magazine cover of him the thief had seen on the news racks. The hero clenched his jaw. "I suppose Justice can take the night off. He'll talk just as easily tomorrow." 

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Batman narrowed his eyes at the thief. "If you say so."

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Ha, he weren't talking. The thief's smirk became a grimace when his smile encountered his swollen lip. He might be caught, but those caped fools had given him the ultimate bargaining chip. He'd wait until the _Lady Eve_ pulled into Metropolis harbor, find the most pushover cop in whatever that city called a precinct, and confess to the crime. He'd use that sap's soft heart to ride his way out of jail. White collar crime just weren't a national priority. Communists, crime families, rioting, juvenile delinquency: those were the career makers today. Someone like him just didn't rate the attention that a jewel thief would have gotten five, ten years ago. He had squeezed through the cracks of the justice system before. He'd do it again with the star rubies. 

__

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By noon tomorrow, he'd be a free man.

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* * *

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The hallways were wide enough to accommodate two broad-shouldered heroes in a companionable lock-step on their trip down the stairwell and up the hall toward their new quarters. Batman seemed lost in thought, and said nothing.

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Out of habit, Clark peered at the contents of their new room through the solid brass-and-oak door. The cabin was far more spacious than he had realized from the top deck. When the captain had said _cabin _—god. He had given them his own personal suite.__

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_____ _

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They hustled inside. Bruce made a beeline to the bedroom and slid the door shut behind him.

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_____ _

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Clark turned the key in the brass lock and rested his forehead against the door for a moment. He closed his eyes. The rush of the waves running high along the hull filled his senses. If he really concentrated, he could hear the whale song of the pod swimming a mile underneath the ship. He could prolong this moment for as long as he needed—but he'd still have to face _Batman _, eventually.__

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_______ _ _ _

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It had been a very long day.

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And it had all started with a booking irregularity that had forced Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne to share a room.

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The _Daily Planet_ newsroom had booked one floor of the ship for Perry White's yearly bash, and the rest of it had flooded with the Gotham social crowd attending the Wayne Enterprises yearly shareholders' meeting held aboard. There were simply too many passengers, and the overflow got stuck together willy-nilly. Bruce Wayne was the only one from the Gotham social crowd who'd demanded his own suite. Clark was the only one at the _Planet_ who had reserved a single-occupancy cabin. (For very good reasons! Reasons that he couldn't explain at the moment, _But trust me, they're good!_ The booking agent had just fixed Clark with a tired expression when he tried that line on her.)

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_______ _ _ _

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The outcome was a natural one.

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Clark Kent wasn't a proud man. He had begged Lois, Jimmy, Steve Lombard, Dan Halbrook. Anyone who would listen. They had all said _No thanks, Kent_ with varying levels of sympathy. None of the other _Daily Planet_ bullpen reporters had even entertained his pleas to switch cabins.

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_______ _ _ _

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"Think of it as an opportunity, Smallville," Lois had put in pleasantly before they split up down the hallway of reserved _Planet_ suites. "Not all of us like our cabin mates, and not all of us are going to have fun. But by god, if you don't come away from this cruise with dirt on _someone_ , has it really been a vacation?" 

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_______ _ _ _

__

In their tiny two-person cabin, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne had sized each other up as they stowed their luggage under their beds. Mr. Wayne had jostled the lamp, and Clark had had to dart out his hand at superspeed to catch it before the man looked up from his oversized suitcase.

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_______ _ _ _

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Clark had decided he didn't much care for his cabinmate. Bruce Wayne had been vain, foppish, and unctuously warm. Clark had been minutes away from _bribing_ Jimmy to switch cabins—when the evening had taken a turn for the surreal.

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A truck had exploded on the pier. At the time, he hadn't known it was merely a distraction from the Rosser Reeves rubies heist happening in the ship's main vault. Clark had been so focused on getting to the fire before it spread to the ship, he hadn't been _thinking _. So, in retrospect, had his cabin-mate. They'd made terrible excuses to each other (hangovers! Early deadlines!), turned out the cabin light, turned on the radio so Clark could "sleep"—and attempted to quick-change into their costumes in the dark. An ill-timed light through the window had revealed their identities to each other as they were mid-change.__

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Batman and Superman had been fighting crime as a team for three years without a single breath to each other that either of them even _had_ a secret identity. Oh, sure, Clark had _assumed _—but with the intensity that Batman pursued crime in his city, Clark could just have easily imagined Batman was a man with only one purpose and only one mask.__

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Kismet. It had to be. 

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The door between rooms slid open.

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"Tired, _Superman_?"

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Clark whipped around. It was Bruce Wayne's sultry voice, but it was _Batman_ who was lying across the room's massive king-size bed.

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Unlike the rest of the ship, this captain's quarters weren't decorated for the tourists. The bed had simple white sheets and a leather headboard. The pillows had been tossed carelessly onto the floor. The black-and-purple cape draped over the side of the bed and caressed the gleaming wood floor lasciviously.

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Clark felt his blood running hot under his costume. 

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He turned and gazed in a neutral location. Not the bed.

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"Not tired, _Batman _," Clark said. He studied the bookshelf, desk, and bolted-down meeting table in the outer room. The brass light fixtures and the leather couch and ottomans reminded him of the small office Pa Kent had kept on the farm just for himself. He willed himself to cool off. "What I am is concerned. We should attend the rest of the—" He swallowed as Bruce slipped off a gauntlet. "—the captain's party. He's been so gracious. He gave up his cabin to let Batman and Superman stay onboard. We shouldn't spurn his hospitality."__

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"Clark—" Batman sat up on the bed when he saw the panic on Clark's face. "No one's going to overhear us. No one's waiting by the keyhole on the off-chance Batman and Superman _might _discuss their secret identities."__

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"Of course," Clark assured himself. He listened for the nearest sound of breathing. Aside from Bruce, there was no one else on this deck. "You're right. That would be foolish. Sorry. It's just, aside from my Ma and Pa, you're—the only one who knows." 

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The other gauntlet hit the ground. Clark dug his fingers into the door. The wood deformed, and then splintered, before he could stop himself.

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"You're a very secretive man, Clark Kent, reporter for the _Daily Planet_ ," Bruce said warmly as he advanced on Clark. His hands were bare. _Batman's hands were bare_. In the years they'd worked together, he'd never seen the Caped Crusader without his ubiquitous gauntlets. Without taking off any other piece of clothing, Batman—no, Bruce—seemed painfully exposed. "Bruce Wayne would like to grant you that... _interview_...you started on deck." 

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Clark bristled suddenly. Oh yes, he remembered how Bruce had shoved him away on deck. He hadn't pushed him physically. No. Bruce Wayne was a social chameleon. A status climber. Born to money and knew what to do and how to do it to other people. He was too refined to _shove_ anyone. Instead, he'd put on a very demure look and _pretended_ his way out of that kiss. Like it was Clark's mistake. Like the tension hadn't been building between them all day. Like the kiss had meant less than ordering a disappointing appetizer at some fancy restaurant.

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"You're really not going to let that go, are you?" Bruce said. "Look, the thief was on the deck with us. If you weren't so wrapped up in us discovering each other's identities, you would have heard him too. I'm an actor, Clark, that's what I do. I _act _."__

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"That's not what—I didn't—" Clark threw up his hands. "We were partners for three years, Batman. We were the best team. The _World's Finest _. Now we can't even talk to each other without pissing each other off."__

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"Is that what's happening right now," Bruce said flatly. His bare hands disappeared into the shadows of Batman's cape. It was uncanny how Bruce could withdraw from Clark without even moving backwards.

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"Yes," Clark said. He turned around and restrained himself enough so the door only rocked on its hinges as he unlocked and opened it. " _Superman_ is going to the party. Do whatever you want."

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Bruce's reply was lost to the echo of the door slamming shut. 

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	2. Chapter 2

The big band struck up a triumphant, jazzy number when Clark set foot in the ballroom for the second time that night. It was the first time he had appeared in costume. No one had given a second thought to Clark Kent's entrance earlier, but for Superman, the reaction was immediate. 

A murmur cut through the crowd like a shark's fin. "He's here! He caught a jewel thief tonight! How marvelous!" 

The couples on the dance floor raised the applause, while their compatriots at the bars that lined the long ballroom raised their glasses in toast. The _Daily Planet_ crew were clustered around Perry at the far end of the ballroom, under the smaller arches of the ceiling. The Gotham socialites mingled with each other and steered around each other with practiced ease. Jewelry flashed and sparkled as Jimmy snuck in a picture. The glitz of a Metropolis-Gotham gala was infectious. Everyone who wasn't dancing was two drinks into the celebration. Hundreds of people were packed into the stately ballroom. The entire ship had turned out for the party. Except for Bruce.

A familiar hand clapped his shoulder. The captain's shining face greeted him. "Superman, welcome to the party! We're glad you could finally make it!"

"Thanks. It's a pleasure to welcome the passengers," Clark said, as the excitement died down. The passengers, for their part, went back to whatever it was they'd been doing, just with an extra buzz of _Superman! He's really here!_ in their conversations. It had been Clark's long experience that everyone was excited to _see_ Superman, but no one was particularly interested in _entertaining_ Superman at a party. The "always remember to drink in moderation!" schtick was about as much fun as a traffic cop at a speedway. 

"We're happy you're aboard," the Captain enthused. He guided Superman through the crowd towards the bandstand. He probably had the mistaken impression that a speech from Superman would liven up the party. 

"Say, where's the grim fellow?" The captain paused, and then added: "Your partner?" as though Clark might have misunderstood the question.

"He can't make it. Justice never rests for Batman," Clark said at last. It was lame, but Superman said things like this all of the time.

Clark could see in the captain's face that he wanted to inquire _How, exactly, did Batman get home when the ship is at sea _—but never knowing what the Bat could and couldn't do was part of Bruce's mystique.__

____

"I think the passengers would like an update on the case. It'd make everyone feel more secure in their persons—not to mention their valuables. Let's just get you—"

Clark eyed the _Daily Planet_ reporters at the back of the ballroom. They were in good spirits _now _, but he didn't want to risk it. "—Captain Carruthers, aha, in my experience, people feel safe until you remind them they have a reason not to. 'Don't worry, you're safe,' is the least reassuring thing I could say right now."__

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"Nonsense, Superman."

____

The bandleader motioned for the end of the song. As the saxophones died away, the band put down their instruments. The Captain plastered on his most professional smile and snapped for a microphone. In the sudden quiet, the guests swiveled their attention to the stage. Laughter and loud whispers broke in.

____

Fun and relaxation was the goal of the night. So, Clark did his best to keep the speech brief. It was short on actual facts and long on spirit. When he was done, he could see the haze of warm feelings had faded in the _Daily Planet_ crowd. They now had that competitive gleam in their eyes. Steno pads and reporters' notebooks appeared from jacket pockets. Pens glinted in the soft ballroom lighting. Lois and Steve Lombard were elbowing their way up through the alcohol-soaked socialites. 

____

"And, now I must—" He didn't get the rest of the sentence out quickly enough.

____

"Lois Lane, _Daily Planet _. I have a question for Superman. Superman, has the thief been caught? And if so, were the jewels recovered?"__

______ _ _

"No, _excuse me_. Steve Lombard, _Daily Planet _. Superman, are you staying onboard the cruise ship?"__

________ _ _ _ _

"What kind of question is that you a—ahh, yes, Cat Grant, social life editor for the _Daily Planet_. Superman, what _are_ your plans for the rest of the cruise? Seeing anyone onboard the ship?"

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"Preposterous! Excuse me, if anyone's going to ask the Man of Steel a question, it's me. Dan Halbrook, Metropolis's best City Editor three years running. Superman! ...Will the Batman be signing autographs later?"

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"One at a time, please." Clark hadn't intended for it to sound like pleading, but it had been a _very_ long day.

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"Silence!" The captain's voice cut through the din. It oozed command. The reporters, who were used to Perry's imperious orders for such in the bullpen, fell quiet. The man himself, Perry White, was laughing quietly into his beer at the ballroom's bar. "There will be _order_ on this ship. Superman will grant _one_ interview to the reporter with the best question. And I'll decide what that question is!"

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Clark felt the blood drain from his face. 

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"No, I don't think that—" But it was too late. The chum was in the water.

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There was a mass intake of breath, and then the ballroom erupted in a roar. The entire _Daily Planet_ pressroom broke out into a shoving match to reach the front of the ballroom. Thirty of the world's best journalists slapped pads from each other's hands, stomped each other's toes, and pushed each other into the gawking crowd.

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"Good god!" the captain exclaimed.

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"I should have warned you about this," Clark said apologetically. 

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A figure slipped out of the rambunctious crowd. The face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. He was a big fellow in the standard reporter's uniform of a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. Clark had seen the style worn around the newsroom, and he'd sewn patches into a jacket just like that one before they'd left on the cruise. He was trim and well-kept. Steve Lombard, if Clark had to guess. "Excuse me, Captain, but I think I have the winning question for Superman." His voice was muffled by a sudden outburst from the crowd. Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen had teamed up to take down Cat Grant and Dan Halbrook. An hors d'oeuvres fork had just bounced off someone's thigh. 

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The Captain picked up the microphone and handed it over to the reporter. "Yes, fine, let's have it."

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"Superman, how did you come to stay on the most comfortable cruise liner in America, and how would you rate your stay?"

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_No_. Clark froze. That _voice_. 

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The Captain beamed as he snatched back the microphone. "Now here's a young man who knows what's going. What's your name, lad?"

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The man looked up. Clark stared his horror right in the face. There had been _jokes_ about it earlier today, sure. But that's all they were: _jokes_. He couldn't honestly believe that anyone would...least of all _his partner_... 

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Bruce Wayne smiled back at him from Clark's suit. "Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_." 

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"Clark Kent, you have won the prize: one interview with Superman!"

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A shout of frustration and sheer disbelief went up from Lois and Dan Halbrook at the same time. Lois shoved Halbrook off of her, and gave him one good final kick to the stomach. He slid onto the floor and grabbed a knocked-over scotch that had rolled next to him. He must have decided that was enough for one night as he downed the drink and relaxed against the dance floor. 

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Clark held his breath for one terrible moment and then the next. If anyone was going to recognize the ruse, it was going to be his deskmate and reporting partner.

________ _ _ _ _

She stormed right up to Bruce, and just stared at him hard. Clark would have given anything to know what she was thinking for that one long minute. She squinted at him.

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"Kent," she said at last. Clark wasn't relieved. There was little relief to be had. She had probably decided that someone who looked like Clark, and sounded like Clark, and even _smelled_ like Clark in Clark's new tweed suit with the hand-stitched leather patches must in fact be Clark Kent. Those glasses were more powerful than Clark had realized.

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(Clark thought that Lois would be slightly less credulous, given the number of doppelgangers they encountered of each other on a yearly basis—but he understood that sometimes you just had to take things on faith.)

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Lois jabbed a finger into Bruce's midsection. "Where the hell were you during the dock fire this morning? Or the jewelry heist? You're _never_ around when Superman is, and you just _decide_ to show up and be a good reporter for once?"

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Bruce glanced surreptitiously at Clark. _Good,_ Clark thought uncharitably. Batman and Superman knew everything about each other, but what did Bruce Wayne actually know about Clark Kent?

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"Yes?" Bruce hazarded.

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" _Fine_. You get the interview, _I_ will do the write-up. None of your usual ham-fisted prose, got it?"

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Bruce had a certain caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar guilt about himself. It all seemed so _natural _. Clark hated to admit it, but Bruce really was a consummate actor. "Okay," Bruce agreed.__

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"Okay." Lois looked a little oddly at Bruce, then over at Superman, then back at Bruce. Whatever she was thinking, she shook her head and dismissed the thought. Her eyes softened a little. "I thought you were going to be occupied all night with that Mr. Wayne? I saw you chase after him earlier. Did that not...pan out?" 

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Bruce slumped his shoulders in an uncanny approximation of what Clark had done earlier today when he had resigned himself to staying in the same cabin as _Mr. Wayne_. "...Lois, _please _."__

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"I guess the Prince of Gotham isn't as easy as they say." Lois laughed lightly, and straightened Bruce's askew tie. "Enjoy the interview, Smallville. And since this is your first rodeo with The Man of Steel, remember: we need _three good quotes _. He's not a big talker, so you'll have to take the lead."__

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"That shouldn't be a problem," Bruce agreed. 

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The impostor Clark Kent turned to the captain with his shyest, most I'm-sorry-to-trouble-you smile. The secondary effect it had on Clark was troubling, at best. 

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"I need somewhere a little more private for my interview. Would you mind showing us to the smoking lounge?" 

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The words were so innocent; Bruce had to have something up his sleeve. 

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Clark was sure he wasn't going to like it.

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* * *

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The smoking lounge wasn't as private as Bruce had implied. It was, however, quiet enough to kindle a hope in Clark. It was a warren of alcoves, booths and arches; if they wandered deep enough, they were bound to at least find a place where they didn't have to maintain this ridiculous charade. Clark could fabricate three reasonable-sounding quotes for Lois's story, Bruce could explain what on Earth he thought he was doing impersonating Clark Kent, and then they could both—

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"This seems perfect," he heard Bruce say, in the middle of this hunt. A hand caught him by the elbow and steered him backward.

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People didn't _steer_ Superman; they couldn't. But he tended to humor the occasional civilian who made the attempt. And once or twice, on a stakeout, or exploring the trap-filled den of some nefarious character, Batman had nudged Clark's hand or shoulder or jaw, and he had moved as directed because that was what a partner did.

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Bruce had a double advantage here, which was how Clark ended up jammed against the arm of a plush green couch, with Bruce so close that he was sitting on Clark's cape. He hadn't relinquished his grip on Clark's arm.

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"Comfortable?" said Bruce, far too close to Clark's ear.

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They were in full view of a young couple sharing a bench, and a man in his fifties who looked like he'd come here to sober up. All eyes were on the two of them.

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"Mr. Kent, this doesn't seem like the ideal venue," Clark began, in a choked voice.

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"Nonsense, it's just right."

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"It's full of people. In a one-on-one, an interviewee's more likely to be candid if—"

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I never imagined you had _such strong opinions_ about journalistic procedure, Superman," Bruce said, squeezing Clark's biceps.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No, I—" Damn him. "When you get interviewed as often as I do, you develop a feel for how it's done."

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"That's fascinating. I haven't been in this business that long; maybe you can give me some pointers."

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Well," Clark said lightheadedly, "Ms. Lane from the _Planet_ seemed quite insistent you get three quotes from me. I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, but it seems like you'd want a pad or a notebook." If he was carrying Clark's pad, it wasn't in the pocket where Clark usually kept it; they were so close it would've been digging into Clark's side.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Bruce said. He was stroking Clark's shoulder now with one hand, and still holding him by the crook of the elbow with the other. "I'm sure that any suitable pull quotes you drop during this conversation will be so memorable a notebook will be completely unnecessary."

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Just great. "Everyone thinks that, but the memory is surprisingly unreliable—" Some optimistic part of Clark imagined he would be more comfortable if he put his foot up on a nearby ottoman, but the slight change of position just gave Bruce an excuse to insinuate himself closer. Clark felt Bruce's breath on his bare neck and, with a far-too-audible gasp, tried to lunge off the couch—only to rediscover that Bruce was sitting on his cape.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark's reflex was to catch people. Bruce's was to—well, Clark didn't dare speculate. But not even a week ago he'd found himself admiring Batman's grace in a fight, his almost casual virtuosity, the way he anticipated and subverted an opponent's movements. 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

That probably had something to do with Bruce finagling himself into Clark's lap. Clark tried to squirm out from under him with the horrified alacrity of a man unexpectedly caught under a corpse, and succeeded only in slipping halfway off the couch. Clark went rigid; it stopped him from falling any farther, but righting himself on the couch would require him to either unseat Bruce, or manhandle him. Clark both refused to give him the satisfaction and sincerely feared to learn where he'd wind up putting his hands.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce now had the height advantage on him, in addition to...everything else.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh," Bruce said breathlessly, " _Superman _."__

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Also!" yelped Clark. Well, if they'd managed to lose the attention of the other cruisegoers in the lounge, he had certainly regained it with that. "Also," he said, at a more appropriate volume, "there is the matter of appearances. _Mr. Kent _."__

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Mmmm?" purred Bruce, very close to Clark's ear. His fingertips skimmed the neckline of Clark's costume; Clark gave up and pushed Bruce's hand away, only for the other to snake around his neck and begin playing with his hair. He shivered convulsively.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You don't think," he said with difficulty, "this seems a bit chummy?"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm sure no one watching would mistake us for _friends _, Superman."__

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark accidentally met the eye of the woman in the spectating couple, who shot him a sympathetic look. He had never once wished for a bystander to come up and pester him for an autograph, but now he found himself making up for lost time.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh!" said Bruce. "I just thought of a question."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I don't know why I assumed you'd have come prepared."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You have such _ideas_ about journalism, I almost wonder if you could have gone into the field yourself if things had been different."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark clenched his teeth. They were cutting close to the bone here. To make matters worse, Bruce had begun to stroke the shell of his far ear. His fingers moved so delicately, straying back into Clark's hair from time to time. "All right," Clark ground out, "ask."

_____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce gave the distinct impression that if there had been any space between their bodies at all, he would have leaned in even closer. Clark felt each steady pulse of his heartbeat.

_____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What," Bruce said, "are you thinking about _right now _?"__

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

* * *

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

When the sham of an interview was over, Clark didn't have the luxury, as Superman, of retreating directly to the cabin he shared with Bruce Wayne. He retired to Captain Carruthers' cabin instead, dodging a few questions along the way about how he was enjoying the cruise, crime in Metropolis, and the whereabouts of the Batman. Some celebratory commotion in and around the ballroom still occupied the attention of most of the passengers, so at least there were few witnesses to Clark's red face and mussed hair.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

As soon as he was sure no one was coming to check up on him, he snuck out the window of the captain's cabin, and in through the window of Messrs. Wayne and Kent's more modest accommodation.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A quick listen ahead while he was in flight told him Bruce was already in the room. Which, on the one hand, meant he wasn't out and about, single-handedly destroying Clark Kent's journalistic reputation, and, on the other hand, meant Clark would have to look at him. And hear him. And smell him. And—

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce was still wearing his Clark Kent disguise. When Clark hopped down from the windowframe, Bruce was lounging on his bed, twirling Clark's hat around his finger. It was the only thing he'd taken off.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark just looked at him for a moment, with the foolish curiosity of a man touching a stove to see if it was hot. The sight of Batman's bare hands emerging from the cuffs of his costume had made him feel unhinged, like he too might leap out of his skin. Bruce Wayne's bare hands—they were good hands, certainly, they were manicured and capable, but...

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce said nothing in greeting, just watched Clark close the window behind himself. Fine. Two could play at that game.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The notebook Clark had speculated about earlier lay on his nightstand, just where he'd left it. He scrawled down some plausible-looking interview notes in a pointedly sloppy hand, then asterisked three nice boring quotes. Two of them were even things he'd said during the "interview", though wildly out of context now. Wildly.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

That would stand up to Lois' scrutiny, probably. If anything, Clark Kent very publicly walking into the same room as Superman was a tremendous boon; it would allay the suspicions she always had when the two identities passed too close to each other. He just had to back up whatever act it was Bruce had pulled earlier by acting like a drunk, handsy idiot for the rest of the evening.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark knew how to hit on people. He could certainly hit on people _badly._ He'd just endured Bruce doing it to him for what felt like a day and a night, though the clock said it had been more like forty-five minutes. It couldn't be that difficult.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He began yanking clothes on over his costume. He wouldn't need it again tonight, but damned if he was going to—

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You aren't going to undress?" said Bruce, with the lazy curiosity of Bruce Wayne, playboy.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He'd never taken his eyes off Clark. Clark had been doing a respectable job of not thinking about it, but he felt himself flushing red again as he shrugged on a fresh shirt. Heat crept down his neck, down his chest; his stomach clenched.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I could ask you the same question," he shot back, and wished he hadn't. "I mean—" No, no, stop. "I need my jacket and shoes back. And my hat. I don't exactly own dozens of those."

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Well, don't let me stop you," Bruce said. He tossed Clark's hat onto Clark's bed and eased back on his elbows. With the toe of one shoe, he pushed the other partway off his foot. His heel emerged, in a grey sock that wasn't Clark's. The shoe hung off his toe, waiting for Clark to take it. Bruce raised an eyebrow and looked along the length of his leg at Clark, along the leg of Clark's own corduroy slacks.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark reached out haltingly. His own hand did not entirely feel like part of his body; his breathing was slow and far away. He took the shoe from Bruce's foot, and Bruce un-pointed his toe and began to fold his leg. It was a quick motion, but in Clark's vision, Superman's vision, it was so gradual he could follow every confident nuance of it. Clark had never taken a moment to appreciate Batman's grace quite like this.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He dropped his shoe—it fell slowly, slowly, to the rug—and seized Bruce by the heel.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce caught his breath. The sound of it slammed Clark back into the present, back into the timeframe he shared with Bruce: the instant for which they looked at each other in silence was the same length for both of them.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They moved at the same moment. Bruce began to push himself off the bed just as Clark lunged onto it. Their mouths met and Clark found himself catching a disguised Bruce Wayne up for the second time this night, lifting Bruce closer to himself, lifting him farther from the edge of the bed so there would be space for Clark to kneel between his thighs. When he relinquished his hold on Bruce's heel, Bruce hooked it at once behind Clark's knee, and pressed as much of himself against Clark as he could.

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark felt an unmistakable shape against his hip and started back from Bruce in astonishment. Bruce was already hard; Bruce had _been_ hard, for who knew how much of this conversation, while he watched Clark attempt to dress, while he mocked Clark with his own shoe. And what about earlier—the clothes he had "borrowed" from Clark could conceal a lot, Clark knew, and Clark had been so preoccupied and _so sure_ he was being toyed with, after the foolish advance Bruce had rebuffed—

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce reached up for Clark's face but Clark shoved him down flat on the bed. He felt it drive the breath from Bruce; " _God _," Bruce said, explosively.__

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He grabbed for Clark's wrist, but Clark was already moving his hand. He tore open Bruce's shirt—his own shirt on Bruce's body, and this wouldn't be the first time he'd had to sew new buttons on it. What he found beneath was not Bruce's bare chest nor a pilfered undershirt, but Batman's familiar black emblem, on his skin-tight grey costume.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

So Clark would not be seeing with his own eyes the phenomenon of Bruce's erection, at least not immediately; he wasn't sure how the Batsuit came off, and it was too important to tear. But even this discovery made his blood pound in a newly familiar way. He understood now. It wasn't the hands themselves, but the fact that the gauntlets were not on them: the sight of Bruce, of Batman, emerging from his own layers into Clark's gaze and making himself known.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Please tell me you aren't planning to stop," Bruce said, without humor. This was not sly Bruce Wayne, nor whatever that godforsaken Clark Kent act had been—this was the deadly serious voice Batman used to discuss matters of justice or crime or life-and-death. He'd never been anything but sincere in this voice. Clark wasn't sure he _could_ be insincere in it.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It hit him like a sock to the gut. He stooped toward Bruce and Bruce, with a little sound of desperation and relief, lunged up to kiss Clark again. He held Clark by the jaw, by the hair. There was no teasing this time, nothing elusive about it: he dug his fingers into the back of Clark's neck and Clark felt the bite of his nails. Clark flattened Bruce against the bed a second time, not with his hand but with the whole length of his body, to feel the hot pressure of Bruce's erection against him again and to be absolutely sure that Bruce had felt Clark's as well.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce made such a sound, God, Clark was going to lose his mind. His weight shifted; Clark had seen him throw enough criminals to know what was coming. He relaxed, and Bruce rolled him onto his back.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He was straddling Clark now, still kissing him with utter fervor. Bruce reached behind himself, and his hand brushed the inside of Clark's thigh; Clark made a choked noise and shoved his hips up against Bruce with force enough to lift him off the bed. Undeterred, Bruce's hand sought higher, until he found and cupped the hard shape of Clark through his pants.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark should really stop thrusting up against Bruce, who clearly had something in mind that Clark wanted to learn about in detail—but every time he failed to stop himself, he was rewarded with Bruce's ass pressing down against him, with Bruce's moans and the hitching of his breath against Clark's mouth as they ground against each other. Clark made himself slow down, at least, and as soon as Bruce saw an opening he shifted his hips forward enough to allow his hand to reach the buckle of the belt Clark had so recently put on.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He made short work of it, and the fly of Clark's pants, and slipped his hand inside to explore—the second belt and set of pants underneath. Clark had almost forgotten he was still in his suit, good grief; he needed it off _soon_ if he wanted to avoid a midnight trip to Smallville to use the laundry machine, and the explanations that would entail.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

At least Clark's costume had _obvious fasteners _. Bruce figured out the catch of the belt on the second attempt, and dragged all of Clark's too-many waistbands down below his balls. The touch of the cool air of their cabin on Clark's cock made him hiss through his teeth.__

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce stroked the underside with a delicacy Clark remembered from the smoking lounge, exploring in circles with the tips of his fingers. He shifted backward again, until he could press Clark against him with his open palm; Clark felt the cleft of Bruce's ass with absolute clarity through the corduroy of the pants Bruce had helped himself to. Clark took him by the hips—he should have been trying to get Bruce's pants open too, but he could barely form the thought, and with every thrust it became harder to envision any course of action that didn't revolve around the heat of Bruce's body and the friction of his hand..

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Yes," Bruce was saying as he rode Clark, "yes, yes," which was probably the least measured and informative utterance Clark had ever heard him make—and Clark was past words, arching taut as a wire against the bed. Bruce gripped Clark's hair again and kissed his chin and the hollow of his throat between fast panting breaths. His body language was turning jerky and urgent; he moved against Clark with either no artifice, or such perfect artifice that Clark believed it with his whole mind, with every inch of his body.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark tried to keep quiet as he came, and thought he heard himself failing. More importantly, he heard Bruce making little sounds into his throat as it happened, devastated noises like there was something about the way Clark was moving that particularly affected him. They slowed as Clark did, and Bruce lay still and shivering atop Clark. When Clark pushed himself into a sitting position, Bruce inhaled sharply, but stayed tensely motionless, with his eyes on Clark's shoulder.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Oh, he was so close. Clark stroked his hand down Bruce's clenched back and a tremulous sound came out of him. There was a wet spot on the seat of Bruce's borrowed pants that was going to righteously annoy Clark later, but which right now merely sent a dizzying aftershock through him; Clark must have moved, because Bruce gasped, and his fingers went so tight in Clark's hair that Clark heard the knuckles creak.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce had closed his eyes rather than meet Clark's gaze, as though that might be too much for him as he teetered on the brink. Because yes, _of course_ Bruce would lead Clark on a ridiculous sexual cat-and-mouse through a crime-ridden cruise ship only for them to be mutually defeated by a shoe, let Clark rub himself off on him, and then finally turn reticent and contained right at the end, while he was still sitting astride in Clark's lap. That was exactly like him. Just another night on the Gotham-Metropolis beat with the Batman.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

If Clark were very lucky, this powerful upwelling of affection for Bruce would be the last big surprise of the night.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark slipped his hand around to the front of Bruce's hip. He wanted to see how long Bruce would make himself wait, he really did. Some other time. What he wanted right now was the exact moan Bruce gave when Clark cupped him through his pants, and the way his eyes snapped open when Clark ran a thumb along the shape of him.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

That was all it took; Bruce crumpled against Clark. There was no more thrusting or jerking, but Clark could feel every pulse of Bruce's orgasm against the palm of his hand, and he made the most satisfying sound every time Clark squeezed or rubbed him. Clark could have kept at it indefinitely, but soon enough the sound turned to a grunt that told him they were past the point of good friction.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His hand came away dry, which probably indicated nothing good for the Batsuit, but did mean that Clark could stroke Bruce's hair without it turning into a snit. Bruce pressed his face against Clark's shoulder. His hands curled and uncurled against Clark's back; his breathing slowed. Clark should have appreciated the pleasant weight of Bruce in his lap more when it happened back in the smoking lounge.

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Okay," Clark said at last. "I'll wash your clothes if you wash mine."

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

Lois Lane had never been one for public drunkeness.

She had politely sipped a bourbon and coke while Perry White regaled the _Planet_ reporters with stories from his latest fly-fishing trip, and put in a quip or two at appropriate pauses in the conversation. Each time, Perry beamed at her like she was his daughter. She was _this close_ to scoring the Foreign Correspondent position at the London desk when it opened up next Fall. So long as she could put up with her suitemate attempting to show her another picture of his office wall—as though she hadn't _personally visited_ the City Editor desk every week for critique on her new assignment.

__

Her work ethic had almost paid off tonight: she was the soberest reporter among the _Daily Planet_ crew when a plum opportunity came knocking. A one-on-one interview with Superman! She had been trying to score a private sit-down with the hero for years. The best she had gotten was fifteen minutes at a hostage negotiation with Jimmy snapping photos from behind the police line. 

Even a co-authored piece filtered through Kent's dubious note-taking could put her in the running for a Metropolis Laurel in Journalistic Excellence. But if she ghosted Clark and took her own notes from below the seaside windows of smoking lounge...? The Pulitzer shortlist for sure. 

It was just bad luck that put a crimp in her plans. 

Back luck and some bad circumstances. The near-riot that that Captain Crabapple started with the interview opportunity became more aggressive once the captain had escorted Superman and Clark Kent from the ballroom. No sooner than when they'd exited to the upper deck, Lois had to defend her steno pad from a sneak attack. It was one of the City Editor's underlings. The lad had to be carried off to the the infirmary with a fork embedded in his hand, while the august City Editor Dan Halbrook snuck out of the ballroom through a side door that doubled back around to the upper deck. 

He was no doubt looking to ambush Superman with inane questions once he finished with Kent.

Naturally, Lois followed him.

She had to put a stop to whatever Halbrook was up to. Thirty seconds of his questions and any hero in their right would never grant another interview to a _Daily Planet_ reporter again.

And if sneaking out through a service door happened to let her avoid the crewmembers that had been called up by the first officer to quell the rowdy _Planet_ reporters—that was just a side benefit of her plan. A reporter _had_ to follow their instincts. 

Footsteps in the hallway echoed and grew closer. 

Lois finessed a lock and ducked into an empty cabin. The footsteps passed the door and stopped. She counted off the seconds, then cracked the door and peeked out into the hallway. A uniformed ship's officer stood next to Cat Grant, who was fumbling for her cabin key. 

"Obviously you don't have to stay all night, I'm more than capable of finding myself appropriate company for the night."

"No Ma'am, those weren't my orders. I'm to watch this door until morning to ensure you have a safe evening."

Ms. Grant recoiled and dropped her keys. As the officer bent down to retrieve them, Lois snuck back out into the hallway. She ducked down another service corridor. As she headed towards the stairwell, she could hear Ms. Grant escalating to bribery. Food, money, invitations to lavish parties when he was dockside. Lois shook her head in sympathy. 

Extra caution slowed her progress back to the upper deck. Eventually, she made her way to the main stairwell that opened like a rolling fan on the promenade of the top deck. The first-class smoking lounge spread out across the uppermost deck, facing the back of the ship. The sea was choppy and she could taste the spray of the waves on the air. But it was a clear night, and the full moon illuminated the deck between the light pylons. It was a romantic kind of evening, she thought. 

She peeked through the windows into the lounge. A young couple out of Metropolis whispered to each other on one of the benches. Lois had spoken to them earlier—they were heading to Aruba to elope. 

Aside from those two, who seemed wrapped up in each other, the room was empty.

And Halbrook wasn't on deck.

Where would Superman possibly go next? Surely wherever _he_ was, Halbrook was there too. 

The ship rolled with a wave, and Lois caught herself against a railing. She could admit that she was feeling a little tipsy now. Not from the alcohol. The feeling that bubbled in her gut was the pure effervescence of a lead.

A thought was nagging at her. Consuming the corners of her mind. Kent was never around when Superman was. It had taken her a while to see the pattern, but she'd finally put it together when she'd seen them side by side in the ballroom. They looked _strikingly_ similar. Not the same, but _similar_. If Lois tousled Superman's hair, put a pair of glasses on the hero, and maybe used some soft lighting, he could pass for the _Planet _'s very own Clark Kent.__

____

Superman was showing up at _a lot_ of crime scenes these days. Sometimes completely across town from each other. Usually just minutes before Lois got there. Kent had scooped her on several of those stories when he hadn't even been seen on the premises.

__

And how often did Superman _actually_ have to intervene these days? Criminals barely even tried to shoot him any more. Sometimes he'd just show up in his blue tights and shout "Lay down your weapons," and the criminals just _gave up_. As Lois went over the facts in her mind, she became more convinced. Crime practically arrested itself these days. Superman rarely had to do _anything_ heroic. Him lifting the boat earlier today was the first feat of superheroics she'd seen from him in months. 

__

The truth was staring her right in the face. _Of course, that's why they can't be seen together. If anyone else sees them together, they'll guess the truth too!_ All these years of Kent's missed appointments and lame excuses. _Of course!_ All she had to do was confront Superman with the truth that she knew now in her bones.

__

Clark Kent was Superman's _ringer _.__

_____ _

_____ _

* * *

_____ _

Lois leaned against the captain's cabin door and breathed deeply. She wasn't winded. Just. A little out of breath. That last ship's officer she had encountered in the hallway had recognized her and given chase. It took her an hour to lose him in the women's facilities, and another two hours to crawl through a maze of service hatches that had been originally intended as some kind of advanced dumbwaiter system for the ship. Lois had written a fluff piece on the _Lady Eve_ 's special construction when it had been christened by the Mayor of Metropolis. It hadn't worked out, and the system had been boarded over in some rooms, converted to trash chutes in others. The current staff officers apparently hadn't been briefed about the access corridors. When Lois emerged on the crew deck hatch, no one was waiting for her. The sun was pinking the horizon. It was dawn, and the morning set would be starting their day soon. 

____

She took a moment to catch the breath she didn't need, smoothed down her jacket, and listened at the cabin door. 

____

Her best source had told her that the captain had given his quarters to the Man of Steel and the Caped Crusader last night. The thick doors here that fit snugly into their steel frames weren't ideal for snooping, but—she could swear there was movement inside the room.

____

Lois slipped her all-purpose "reporter's access card" into the lock and jiggled it. The tumblers clicked into place, and the door gave a little. She removed the lockpick, and then paused. Last chance to reconsider.

____

If her source was wrong and the captain was in his quarters, Lois would spend the rest of the cruise in the brig.

____

But no—she needed to confront Superman. Clark Kent's heart was a good one, and he was always quick to say yes to any project that crossed his desk. If Superman was using Clark Kent as a ringer to help stop crime around Metropolis, one of these days, someone was going to trying _shooting their way_ out of the situation. Clark Kent was going to get himself seriously injured. Or killed. 

____

She was certain about that, just as she was that the second bourbon and coke in the women's pool bar had been a great idea. 

____

Lois turned the knob and pushed the door in. And stopped. And stared. 

____

Bruce Wayne stood frozen in the center of the room, in a pair of suspenders, an undershirt, and a pair of very tight briefs. It took Lois a moment to register that he was holding an armful of what looked like bondage gear, with at least three pairs of cuffs, two batons, and one very robust feather duster.

____

"Occupied?" he said hopefully. 

____

Lois blinked at the wood door to clear the afterimage from her eyes. She steadied herself against the doorpost. She opened her mouth and closed it again. 

____

"Is Superman here?" she asked, when her voice returned.

____

"No-oooo," was the reply.

____

"Have you seen Superman at all tonight?" she pressed.

____

"Superman? No. Definitely not _Super _man."__

______ _ _

"No, you know what, it's been a long night, and I need you to answer this question immediately. Who needs suspenders for their _underwear _?"__

________ _ _ _ _

"A man who doesn't trust his pants?" Mr. Wayne hazarded.

________ _ _ _ _

Lois closed the door gently, and stared into the empty hallway. She didn't have time for whatever sexual romp Mr. Wayne was obviously preparing for Batman. Maybe Clark had dodged a bullet after all.

________ _ _ _ _

Where _was_ Superman? 

________ _ _ _ _

Halbrook would know.

________ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

* * *

________ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

When Clark woke the next morning, it was to sunshine seeping through the cabin porthole. Clark had slept like the dead. He hadn't needed to sleep for another week, but last night had been exhausting in more ways than one. His Kryptonian metabolism thanked him for it with a gentle wash of energy over his skin. It felt like the glowing embers of day catching against a waterfall. The firefall bathed his skin in liquid heat as he stretched languidly over the covers of the bed.

________ _ _ _ _

He rolled onto his side. The other bed was empty. The sheets had been stripped off and the bed remade with the precision of a man raised by a butler. 

________ _ _ _ _

He wasn't particularly surprised to find that Bruce had risen sometime before him and slipped out of the room. Bruce was an amazing actor. That much Clark could admit after watching Bruce maneuver his way through last night's farce. But just because Bruce was good at pretending emotion (or lack thereof), it didn't follow that Bruce knew how to deal with an actual emotional revelation. 

________ _ _ _ _

Batman and Superman's partnership had changed irrevocably last night. Clark was certain of it. But what that meant today...did Clark have a partner, or did he have something more? 

________ _ _ _ _

Clark's hand collided with his glasses frame as he raised his hand to rub his eyes. The metal end crumpled. Clark swore under his breath. Bruce must have slipped the glasses back onto his face sometime during the night.

________ _ _ _ _

There was an insistent knocking outside the cabin. 

________ _ _ _ _

"Smallville! Are you here? SMALLVILLE, ANSWER ME IF YOU'RE STILL ALIVE."

________ _ _ _ _

Clark unbent the metal frame, stuck the glasses back on his face, and shuffled over to the door. He did a quick costume check (nothing visible, only his nightclothes), and let Lois in before she hammered something off its hinges.

________ _ _ _ _

Lois stormed into the room like she was single-handedly taking Normandy. Her steno pad stuck out of her jacket pocket at an odd angle. She was covered in grime. Clark steadied her by the elbow when she swayed on her feet. Her clothes were damp with an odd moisture. He was pretty sure those were oil patches on the knees of her trousers. Earlier in their partnership, he would have been distraught at this sight—or at least peppered her with questions. He'd learned that this was—more often than not—what being Lois Lane's partner meant: inexplicable stains and 5 am story leads.

________ _ _ _ _

She craned her neck around the tiny cabin and then rounded on Clark. "Clark! Where were you! I checked for you _everywhere_ last night!" 

________ _ _ _ _

"...Did you check my cabin?" 

________ _ _ _ _

"No. Well, I mean yes—I'm here now! And it's the last place I expected to find you! Clark, to come to the point, I've discovered your secret and we need to talk."

________ _ _ _ _

It almost felt like relief. Lois was a reporter and a damn good one at that; Clark had prepared himself for this development since he started working at the _Daily Planet _. Having a second person know his secret identity might even come in handy. His excuses to Perry had been getting a little thin. Last week, he had said he had to attend an emergency christening for his god-cow. Perry had looked at him a little oddly, and written it off as a Kansas thing. Clark had kicked himself. He should have invented a fake sibling years ago. Having Lois cover him would probably disabuse the office of some strange notions he'd let them develop about Midwestern livestock.__

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lois motioned at the interior of the room impatiently. Clark barely blinked as he shuffled back into it.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Hmmmphhffl." He faked the yawn, and threw in a stretch to sell it. "It's too early to be standing." 

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark offered Lois Bruce's bed. Her shoes squeaked against the carpet as she sat.

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Clark. I don't know why it's taken me so long to puzzle this one out, but I finally saw the picture last night." She paused, and Clark nodded at her tiredly. "Superman _can't_ use you this way, do you understand? It's _dangerous _."__

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark grew hot under the collar. Oh god. Never mind; he hadn't prepared for _this _. Lois must have grilled one of the witnesses from the smoking lounge.__

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Look, I can explain," Clark began. Lois nodded expectantly, brimming with a kind of brisk compassion that needed you to be vulnerable on a very tight timetable. "Okay, maybe I can't explain." 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You don't need to explain! I know you, Smallville. You have a good heart. Of course you'd say yes if he offered. But don't throw your life away on Superman. It's not worth it!"

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I—I—look, it's not like that, it's not serious at all. It—I mean _we_ , were perfectly safe. It was short and, uh, very, um, discreet. And it's...it's probably over." Clark ran out of steam. It _was_ probably over. Bruce's absence this morning was probably to put a fine point on how over they were. He didn't even have a good lie to prepared for himself. Clark's hands flopped uselessly in his lap. 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lois reached across the gap between the beds and touched Clark's knee. It was an unbearably sweet gesture. "It's all well and good until you take a bullet."

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The next thing happened very quickly; they each spoke over the other.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"—I just want you be safe when you're out there in costume. You're only human, you know."

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"—Lois, I hardly think someone's going to shoot me because I kissed Superman." 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And then they both started in confusion.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"—You thought I was fighting crime _for Superman _?"__

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"—You kissed Superman?"

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"We—well." Clark recalled their interlude in the smoking lounge in vivid detail. With the added context of what came after—he shuddered. It wasn't unpleasant. He was shocked by how not unpleasant it had been. "More like...I publicly fondled him."

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Clark recognized that gleam in Lois's eyes. "You can't print this." 

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm going to shove this _right_ in Halbrook's face. Just as soon as I find him—"

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Lois!" Clark had to run after her into the hallway. "YOU CAN'T PRINT THIS." 

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She'd already disappeared down a side corridor.

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He swept the nearby area with x-ray vision, but she was already gone. "Where on earth does she get to?" he wondered aloud to no one in particular.

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually Clark was roused from bed again by another knock. He dropped the "interview" notes back on the nightstand. (He had enough here to satisfy last-night Lois. This-morning Lois, on the other hand...he hoped at least one juicy revelation about Krypton could persuade her down a different path of inquiry.) He bid the guest enter, as he hadn't bothered to lock the door after Lois's appearance. The knock sounded again. This one came from the cabin wall. It emanated from a rather anemic oil seascape. Clark tipped his glasses off of his eyes and x-rayed the wall.

There was little left that could surprise him. Bruce in a three-piece suit, standing in one of a series of linked coffin-like compartments behind the walls of this room and all of the other rooms along this hallway, seemed practically expected. Clark had been too preoccupied at the time to think about it, but when he'd x-rayed the boat from stem to stern in search of the missing rubies, there had been more _rooms_ than a cruise liner with a capacity of 500 needed.

Clark touched the wall studs, then pressed his face against the surface. Bruce would hear him just fine through the half-inch-thick steel. Right?

He thought better of it, took down the painting, and poked a hole in the wall at eye level with his pinky finger.

"Fancy meeting you here," Bruce said casually through the hole. He brushed a mote of dust off of his shoulder with Bruce Wayne's faux primness. 

"I could rip the wall off," Clark offered. 

"I'd prefer if you didn't," Bruce said. "That would raise questions that we don't need."

"...Lois got you too, huh?" 

"I suppose another article about Bruce Wayne's predilection for whips hurts nothing but my pride. What was she doing here?" 

"Honestly, it would be better if I explained it over breakfast." 

"Speaking of," Bruce said cheerfully. Clark felt instantly suspicious. "Kitchens open in forty minutes. Meet me down in the engine room." 

"...Somehow, I get the feeling we're not going to be inspecting turbines."

Bruce winked. "Don't forget to dress for the occasion." 

Clark met Bruce down in the engine room a half-hour later, having gone by way of normal foot traffic in his tweed reporter garb. He had had to stop to explain to multiple very insistent ship's officers that no, he was not a part of the ballroom rowdiness last night, and yes, he had ship's business just down the hallway. When one officer had turned to press a ship's comm on the wall, Clark had put on a burst of speed, and left only a blast of wind and loose papers behind him.

When he arrived in the engine room, Bruce was covered head-to-foot in that same grime Lois had sported. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Clark nodded and touched his chest to confirm he was wearing his suit underneath. Bruce grunted in acknowledgment. 

The exchange was brief, and barely what you would call communication, but it eased something in Clark's chest. 

Some things hadn't changed, at least. Whatever else they were, Batman and Superman were still partners. Clark sidled up to him, and they stood in silence beneath the massive engine turbines that powered the cruise ship.

Clark flicked a piece of half-dissolved twine out of Bruce's hair. "Did Lois give you this idea too?"

"She did. I hadn't considered that the thief had studied the layout of the ship thoroughly before the robbery. This looked like a crime of opportunity. We didn't recover any ship plans from the thief's cabin. The safe was open while we were docked at port. He saw it, took the rubies, and fled." 

"If that were true, we'd have found the rubies hours ago." 

"Precisely," Bruce said. It was as close as Batman ever got to agreeing with him on a case, and Clark felt a rush of warmth in his stomach. 

"But I did observe some of this same...ship gunk on the thief when we apprehended him."

"The same 'ship gunk' that you observed on Lois this morning?"

"The very same," Bruce agreed. 

Clark swiped at a splotch of oil of Bruce's cheek, but Bruce shied away before he could reach it. Unthinkingly, Clark grabbed his chin to hold him in place. In profile, Bruce's eye widened minutely. Clark swallowed and released Bruce's chin gently. 

He cleared his throat, and stared down at his prize. The schmutz, on a microscopic level, was unremarkable. Molecularly similar to certain kinds of grease used in joint-welding. "Is this from the weird passageways in the walls?" It was _similar_ to what he'd seen on the thief, but didn't account for the rough state of his arms. "It was just something Lois said—" Clark trailed off as he recalled the thief eyeing them resentfully from the deck. He'd been bound and gagged. Bruce had hitched the sleeves of his shirt up to make sure he wasn't hiding any knives. His forearms had been dappled with red, angry pockmarks. If this schmutz _didn't_ account for those marks—if the marks had been from a different source— "There were traces of metal on the thief's forearms, almost as if he'd been smelting—"

They reached the conclusion at the same time. Clark and Bruce turned to each other and shouted: "—They're in the bullets!"

* * *

Clark and Bruce stood before the massive compartment that collected garbage for the aft portion of the ship, completely out of place in their morning formal suits. The bulkhead was open at the top. It would endanger the ship's passengers, in the event of a hull breach—but Superman didn't have the appropriate audience for his nautical safety concerns. Garbage chutes curved overhead. 

Bruce tilted his head at Clark. "Which is our lucky contestant?" 

Clark tipped his glasses down. 

Bruce scoffed. It sounded almost...affectionate.

"Why do you—" Bruce mimed the glasses tilt. "Your x-ray vision works fine through those, doesn't it?"

Clark shrugged, and felt his neck pink. Luckily Bruce couldn't see that well in this low light. "I like the visual cue." Clark squinted as he scanned the breadth of the ship.

He pointed at the closest chute. "That's the one the first officer tossed the gun down." His hand traced the arc the gun would have taken, tumbling down the chute like so much trash, and came to rest pointing at the area nearest the right bulkhead. He jabbed his finger at the closest safety hatch into the bulkhead. "My best guess—the gun would have fallen there." 

"The ship has to dump its garbage before it hits the statutory limit of protected waters. We're—" Bruce checked his watch. "15 minutes away from that mark." 

"Tell me the bad news," Clark said, poorly repressing a grimace. He'd never gotten the hang of turning his super-smelling _off _.__

____

"The kitchens officially open in five. Which means fresh, hot, gourmet garbage should be pouring in any minute now." 

__

Clark pulled off his glasses, folded them, and tucked them into the breast pocket of his jacket. He yanked it off and threw it, already folded, into Bruce's waiting hands. Unknotted his tie. Unbuttoned his vest. Each landed in Bruce's waiting arms, folded at superspeed and aimed with precision. 

__

"This is easily the least attractive thing I've seen you do," Bruce lied.

__

"You take me on all of the best dates, _Batman _."__

_____ _

Clark slowed down, ran his fingers over the buttons of his shirt, and looked up at Bruce with the least Clark Kent expression he could muster. With one effortless yank, he tore open his dress shirt. The Kryptonian shield gleamed underneath. He grinned, and then spun faster than the human eye could track, making the rest of his clothing vanish. 

_____ _

The breath caught in Bruce's throat. He cleared it surreptitiously. "You'll," he started roughly, "have to tell me how you do that." 

_____ _

"I super-compress my pants and hide them in a special pouch on my cape."

_____ _

Nothing changed on Bruce's face, but Clark knew that inwardly Bruce groaned, or rolled his eyes, or both. Bruce handed the bundle of Clark's clothing back to him and watched it disappear as though into thin air too. He yanked at his tie and his collar loosened at his throat to reveal a tiniest hint of black and gray fabric underneath. 

_____ _

"Let's see about a gun, shall we?"

_____ _

_____ _

* * *

_____ _

_____ _

Waist deep in rinds, and filters, and disintegrating papers, Clark discovered that he could use his super-breath to tame his sense of smell. He froze the air just before it reached his nose, and his Kryptonian senses rejoiced at the fresh smells of crisp, icy air. He let out little puffs of frozen air, while Bruce worked efficiently next to him. Bruce had proposed that Clark go through the entire trash pit with super-speed, but Clark was unsure if he could catalogue everything he found while he was moving at that speed. He did, however, run his eyes over the trash and pick out all of the places his vision couldn't penetrate. There weren't many of them—but there were enough tiny spots of lead in this trash receptacle that investigating each was no small job.

_____ _

The first two had been scraps of machined-down pipe. Another had been a discarded crystal perfume bottle. The last had been a fancy lead-bottomed porcelain bowl.

_____ _

Clark scanned the trash, and pointed towards the next likely lead. "Below your right shoe, two feet down."

_____ _

Bruce's head disappeared into the waste, and Clark held his breath in sympathy until he resurfaced, gun clenched triumphantly between his teeth. It was _the gun _. No mistake about it. The end of the long barrel was still tied into the little bow from Clark's poorly-timed moment of whimsy on the aft deck.__

_______ _ _ _

"We did it," Clark shouted. 

_______ _ _ _

Bruce grunted, and spat the gun out. He didn't look nearly as relieved as he should.

_______ _ _ _

"It feels too light," he said, as he weighed it in his hands.

_______ _ _ _

Clark examined it, and felt a sense of strange urgency overcome him.

_______ _ _ _

"Bruce, the bullets are _gone _."__

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Bruce clenched his fist around the gun. If he'd had Kryptonian strength, he would have pulverized it. "Someone has the rubies."

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Clark turned his head to the room where Captain Carruthers had informed them they would keep the thief. The thought of checking up hadn't even crossed his mind—Superman wasn't a jailor. His job was to stop those the authorities couldn't. That was the end of Superman's role in the justice system—it had to be: a superhero wasn't a justice of the peace, nor was he a trained officer of the law. 

_________ _ _ _ _ _

He located the room, just three floors above the garbage hold. Someone was in the room, all right, but it wasn't the jewel thief, and they weren't tied up. 

_________ _ _ _ _ _

"Bruce," Clark whispered harshly. " _He's escaped _."__

_________ _ _ _ _ _

* * *

Lois' head had cleared enough for her to realize she'd been going about it all wrong that night. The morning sun had brought the entire night into focus, and she wondered if she was off her game. The lead should have occurred to her much earlier. It was so absurdly simple. Dan Halbrook had a hero complex. Not of the kind that most City Editors had. He had an honest-to-god wall of autographs from his favorite heroes. He'd showed her the pictures of it at the bar last night. He was _proud_ of that collection. And the only one that was missing was _Batman_. Halbrook was going to positively _flip_ when he heard what Lois had discovered...

She made a beeline for the ship's officer still skulking outside of Ms. Grant's room. He was slumped against the wall by her doorbell, hat tipped enough to shade his eyes from the hallway lights. His eyes were puffy and ringed with sleep—the picture of human insomnia. Lois could accurately predict how many times he had had to patiently redirect Ms. Grant back into her room from emergencies real and imagined. 

It took the officer a few seconds for his eyes to focus on Lois as she stood over him. 

"Two hundred dollars and your picture in the paper if you tell me where you're holding the Reeves Rubies jewel thief," Lois announced. It had to have been a better offer than he'd received all night. She watched his expression waver, then added: "Think of how many new mattresses that could buy, Officer—" She glanced cursorily at his nametag. "—Crabapple."

* * *

The thief was being held on one of the lower decks, in a utility closet near the last of the aft coach-class cabins. The hallway was empty. No Halbrook. There wasn't even a guard on the door. _They must have called_ all _of the ship's officers to our little party last night _. Lois's train of thought screeched to a halt as she approached. She slowed, and then tiptoed cautiously towards the closet.__

____

The door was _ever-so-slightly_ ajar. As though it had been picked. Lois bent down, and removed her heels. They were hopelessly stained from her foray into the ship's secret tangle of service compartments. She left one on the floor, and held the heel of the other between the knuckles of her left hand. She crept along the wall. One breath. Two. And then she pushed the door in with a stockinged foot.

There was a groan from the depths of the closet, but no one barreled out. Lois immediately knew something was amiss. She'd never broken into a room full of criminals who hadn't pushed their way past her or taken her hostage on the spot. The thief was obviously no longer inside.

Lois peeped around the edge of the doorframe just as she felt a telltale puff of air on the back of her neck. She looked her fill of the room. Dan Halbrook was sprawled in a corner, propped up by a mop and a very large bucket. The thief had left in with nothing more than a pair of white longjohns. He groaned again as Lois moved out of the doorframe and the light from hallway spilled across his hungover face.

She turned to see Superman—as she expected—standing in the corridor behind her with his arms folded across his chest, and Batman—who she hadn't expected—glowering right next to him. 

"Ms. Lane, are you all right?" 

"Perfectly fine, gentlemen." Her eyes swept from one hero to the other. They seemed in no particular rush to be anywhere else. "Well, what are you waiting for?" 

"The thief has escaped," Batman said flatly. "We need to debrief this—" Batman waved at Halbrook, who was cuddling the bucket. Lois sympathized with the linguistic difficulties of the situation. "—person and discover what we can about where the thief might have gone next."

"He was wearing reporters' clothes last night; I know exactly where he's gone."

The World's Finest shared a look with each other that made Lois question some of the conclusions she'd reached earlier today. Well, there'd be time for that later, when she cornered Clark about that "interview". 

"It's perfectly obvious. Someone who was dressed like Dan Halbrook last night would obviously end up in the last place I'd look." 

* * *

The jewel thief paced the cramped cabin like a caged tiger. He had _almost_ done it. He had _almost_ escaped. Except: now he was confined to another man's cabin, with another officer posted at the door, and who knows when this _Lois Lane_ whose name festooned half of the luggage in the room would return from her late-night assignation—or whatever it was rich folks did on cruises. This room had no easy access to the series of compartments that crisscrossed the levels of the _Lady Eve _. The dumbwaiters were sealed up behind half-inch thick steel and he couldn't imagine that two citybird reporters had brought welding tools on their seaboard vacation.__

____

He touched the pocket of his stolen jacket and felt for the bullets; a compulsive habit he'd repeated ad-nauseam for the last three hours. They were still there. The rubies were with him. They were safe. No one had discovered him yet.

____

The intercom whistled. 

____

The thief depressed the button on the intercom panel on the wall next to the beds. 

____

He tried for nonchalant and missed the mark by a mile. "HEL—lo."

____

"Yes, hi, Dan Halbrook! This is..." There was a bit of muffled conversation as the person covered the intercom speaker with their hand and spoke to the ship's officer stationed outside of the door. "First Officer Crabapple! We wanted to inform you that the ship will reach port in less than an hour. We advise you to dump all of your remaining trash before we enter protected waters."

____

The thief's stomach dropped. The ship's officer had been pleasant enough as he manhandled him back into this suite, but the First Officer had been present when he had been apprehended by the capes. He felt the Damoclean sword swing over his head. "Great, thanks." 

____

"If you don't mind unlocking the door, we're conducting spot-checks of the room."

____

"No, thanks, I'm—not dressed. Ah, mishap with the cocktail sauce and my dignity. You get the picture."

____

"Officer Peattree can run your suit down to drycleaning if you've been, ah, impositioned. We can return later for the cabin check. Have a nice day, sir."

____

The thief thrilled. One last lucky break! With the first officer gone and ship's officer off of the room, he could finally sneak back to his own cabin, wait out the hour, then slip off the ship during the hubbub of docking. 

____

The officer took over on the intercom. "Officer Peterson here. I can take your laundry if you're ready, sir."

____

"Yes, fine, hold on—" He yanked a suitcase out from the bed and grabbed at the first handful of clothing he saw. Freedom was within his reach. One hand on the bullets, and the other full of laundry, he tottered over to the door. Positioning himself behind it so his face wouldn't be visible to the First Officer if he was still there, he wedged the handful of laundry through the crack. 

____

It happened so fast, he didn't have time to catch himself on the doorknob. One second the laundry was lifting from his arms, and then next a pair of black bat-shaped cuffs descended over his exposed wrist. Once it had snapped on, the thief found himself yanked out from behind the door at great force. 

____

A very irate Batfist met his face, and he was out again. 

____

____

* * *

____

____

"—When the riot in the ballroom happened, the First Officer called all of the ship's officers to deal with the guests. With the guard gone from hs post, our thief here began to get some strange ideas about actually getting away with this crime. Dan Halbrook, desperate for facetime with the heroes who captured the thief, provided the perfect opportunity. The thief knocked him out, stole his clothing, and disappeared into the crowd. I'm still not sure how he managed to slip down into the waste disposal area without being seen, but I suspect it has to do with none of the ship's rowdy passengers staying in coach. When he tried to make his way back up into the rest of the ship, the officers caught him and sent him back to his room, per the First Officer's instructions. We might not have been able to put all of the pieces together if it wasn't for the investigative legwork of Lois Lane. She was the one who helped us close the dragnet for our thief."

____

"So much for John P. Smilter's life of crime," Superman put in.

____

Captain Carruthers nodded blearily at the two heroes, who obviously didn't understand that first morning light was not the time for detective monologuing. He'd slept decently—but not for long—in a hammock in the control room. 

____

"The rubies were recovered?" The captain questioned. 

____

Batman dumped six bullets into the captain's hand. "They'll need to be re-smelted. You can tell the owner the Reeves Rubies are fine, and the Exhibition can continue with their star attraction."

____

Superman chuckled politely; the captain merely looked perplexed.

____

"They're star rubies; so you see, Batman's comment is a pun as well as a—" Superman cut himself off. "So...it's a good thing we were here to help! This just goes to show, crime doesn't pay!"

____

Captain Carruthers and prodded the man in question with the toe of his boot. "Alive, is he?"

____

Batman grunted in affirmation. 

____

"Oh, good, that's everything wrapped up!"

____

"Not quite everything, Captain. I think you and I need to have a serious discussion on your protocols for securing criminals. Batman and I can't always be on your ship to handle these things—" 

____

The captain's eyes glittered. "What if I offered you free room and board for your next stay?" 

____

Batman scoffed. He left the room in a dramatic swirl of cape.

____

"That was very atmospheric," the captain enthused. 

____

Superman squinted out across the deck, in the direction his fellow hero had gone. He seemed distracted. "If you'll excuse me, we can continue this conversation at port—" Superman turned to leave the room as well.

____

"Superman, could I have a moment of your time? I have another matter I wanted to address." 

____

Superman hesitated for a second, then seemed to accede to the request.

____

Now that the Bat was gone, Captain Carruthers found himself relaxing. He was a man of the sea, and land animals just threw off his entire sense of the world. Put him with a hero called The Sea Gull, and he'd be right at home. He should probably ask Superman about that one before they put into port. 

____

The cruise had lasted no more than twenty-four hours. Still, it was safe return to port. And a captain is a main of ritual and habit. He offered a cigar to Superman, who turned it down with a pithy catchphrase about public health. He bit off the end. In deference to his guest, he didn't light it. The symbolism was still the same; a good cigar for all good things that come to good ends. 

____

"Now, uh, about this other matter—this is just between you and me, you understand." 

____

Superman nodded seriously. "You can always count on my discretion." 

____

"What I don't understand in all of this," the Captain said slowly—and obviously, he didn't understand much of all of this. That was what his First Officer was for, anyhow. "How on earth did Batman reboard the ship while we were at sea? I thought he wasn't the flying one. Didn't you say that at the beginning of this whole mess?" 

____

"I did."

____

The Captain gestured at the flat sea. In the morning light, it looked like dimpled glass. "Does he have some kind of Bat Radar? Bat Copter? ... _Bat Balloon _?"__

______ _ _

Superman considered the question. The glass towers of Metropolis sparkled off in the distance; they'd reach her in an hour's time at full speed. 

______ _ _

"I'm the very soul of discretion," the Captain promised. He already couldn't wait to tell his poker crew at tonight's game. 

______ _ _

Some decision must have been made, because Superman leaned in close and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hush. "He's very sensitive about it. He wouldn't want this getting around. He has a reputation to maintain, you understand." 

______ _ _

Superman's eyes danced in the morning light. "Off the record, he calls it the Bat Sea Rescue."

______ _ _


	5. Epilogue

Clark and Bruce enjoyed a leisurely late morning on the deck of the _Lady Eve_ as she anchored outside of Metropolis Harbor. Cracking a case together had eased the tension between them. They were friends; they were partners; they were (probably) lovers, and that was all fine. Nothing between Bruce and Clark had to change. Clark was fine with just this—a quiet breakfast with his friend with a stunning view of the city he loved.

The green-and-ivory curtains of the open-air restaurant fluttered in a breeze. It was a rare day; just chilly enough to feel comfortable in full wool suits over hidden superhero costumes. The jewel thief had been picked up by a Metro PD police boat a few hours earlier; but the great ship herself couldn't dock until another berth opened. Clark had insisted on a third place setting for Lois, but she had—so far—not materialized from the lower decks. Bruce let out a sigh that was somewhat near pleasure when the waiter served coffee.

"And for you gentlemen, could I interest you in the ship's buffet? It's complementary to all of our guests today."

They examined the buffet. The centerpiece was a delicately arranged set of breakfast tacos, clothespinned to cotton kitchen twine. Deconstructed cocktail sauce was smeared on a large wooden board below them. Bruce and Clark decided to order off the menu, and let their good cheer be uninterrupted by the culinary curiosities of this trip.

Bruce tipped his head over his shoulder. Clark followed the motion and spotted the couple that had watched them—that is to say, _a version of them_ that was much like the version of them now, but confusingly not—in the smoking lounge. They gave Clark a disapproving frown as they picked up their plates and left the table. 

The woman touched Bruce's shoulder as they passed. 

"Watch out for this one," she said to Bruce, as she motioned curtly at Clark. "He's a love-'em-and-leave-'em type. He's got that look." 

Bruce smiled up at her brightly. He covered her hand for a second, squeezing her hand back in kind. "Oh, no, I don't think he does at all. I don't think we've been introduced. Bruce Wayne, of the Gotham Waynes." 

Her eyes became saucers. "Oh," she said. " _Oh_." She hurried off in a daze.

"How do you do that to people?" 

"Years of terrible press," Bruce confided. 

The waiter brought out their plates. Bruce's eggs benedict were served in a wire swan basket with napkins underneath it. Clark's waffles and toast came individually skewered in a garden of moss.

Bruce dove into his plate without a second thought. "The answer to your question, Mr. Kent, is 'yes.'"

"What's my question?"

"Does it get harder to guess what's edible on a plate the higher in society you go. The answer is 'yes.'"

"I may have had a different question in mind." 

They ate in companionable quiet. Clark chewed on his waffle skewer thoughtfully. Guests drifted out of the deck in singles and in pairs, arms locked, and chatting about the beautiful morning weather, until they were more or less alone. When they finished, Clark offered Bruce his arm, and Bruce took it. They wandered over to starboard rail, and looked out over the calm ocean together. Clark watched a pod of whales breaching somewhere in the mid-Atlantic. 

Bruce's lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "What's your question, Mr. Kent?"

Suddenly, all of Clark's concerns about _romance_ found expression in a very insistent throb that pressed lightly against his thigh. He looked across at Bruce, and Bruce returned the gaze. God. They'd have their pick of rooms this time. 

Clark cleared his throat. "How can you tell I'm not a love-'em-and-leave-'em type? You barely know me. You met _Clark_ yesterday."

"I've known you for three years, _partner_. Clark and Superman aren't actually different people. You're still the same man who tries to explain my puns to civilians." 

"And you...want that? You want...me?" 

"What can I say—sometimes a man of taste wants a man who eats his waffles off of skewers." 

"Who would have known you're a hopeless romantic, _Batman_."

"Who would have known you're a hopeless liar, _Superman_." 

It was about then, with the light high on Bruce's cheeks, and the ocean breeze running its fingers through Bruce's hair, that Clark decided that it was definitely going to be the captain's quarters next. He popped his thumb under Bruce's tie, and slid it down along its length. 

"Just one last thing—" Clark breathed. 

Bruce's eyes had gone heavy. 

"Don't forget to duck." 

Clark dropped the tie. In a second he was there—and then gone—Bruce's tie and jacket billowed out in the puff of superspeed backdraft.

A second later, a giant sunhat belonging to Lois Lane swanned into view. Bruce didn't have a chance. Her eyes were keener than a hawk's.

"Mr. Wayne!" She waved vigorously. "Hello, Mr. Wayne. Could you spare a minute for the _Daily Planet_?" 

Lois grabbed Bruce's arm and led him over to the buffet. He grabbed a small plate and liberated some of the tacos for himself, as Lois went straight for one of the cheesepuff legs of the Eiffel Tower. 

"It's such a shame that the cruise had to be cut short. We've lost so much time for us to catch up. If you're going to be in Smallville's life, we shouldn't be strangers. He and I are partners, and we know absolutely everything there is to know about each other. 

"Say," she said casually, and Bruce felt a very curious feeling. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he felt an odd rumbling in the pit of his stomach. It was a terrible sense of foreboding— 

—or maybe it was just kismet. Bruce wasn't beyond believing that the universe's idea of justice differed horribly from his own. 

"Don't you think it's _absolutely_ _funny_ that in all of your years in Gotham, you and the Batman have never been spotted in the same place at the same time?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy reblogging things, you can do that [here](http://oneiroteuthis.tumblr.com/post/174256375158/title-at-sea-artist-batdad-mizgoat-authors). MizGoat is on Tumblr as [batdad](http://batdad.tumblr.com/), metropolisjournal is there under that [very same name](http://metropolisjournal.tumblr.com/), and you can find architeuthis there as [oneiroteuthis](http://oneiroteuthis.tumblr.com/).


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